Tilt
by Hikari Nanase
Summary: Touya Akira is courageous, eloquent, and perhaps even poetic on the goban. Away from the wooden board and the stones, however, he finds his social skills lacking and envies the carefree boisterousness of one, Shindou Hikaru.


"Tilt" [1/?]

By Hikari Nanase

9/27/2011

Disclaimers: All standard disclaimers apply- I do not own Hikaru no Go.

NOTES: I'm not sure if this will be multi-chapter or one-shot at this point.

In dedication to the girl I fell in love with so many years ago, when I was naïve, awkward and rather friendless. Every moment I spent with her, I watched for her smile and greedily memorized her sweet smell and her bright voice. To the girl named after a flower, the girl with the eyes of a tiger, who had returned my gaze when I thought no one would.

He wonders, vaguely, about the young man with blonde bangs sitting across from him. It is a thought that assails him repeatedly- always unwelcome, always met with silent annoyance- and that he quickly sets aside in his mind until it reemerges once again with striking tenacity.

Touya Akira wonders why it is that Shindou Hikaru, his opposite in nearly every way, should be the only person he knows to be infuriatingly fascinating. He realizes without surprise that his vision is nothing short of monocular so far as his rival is concerned, and he accepts with pleasure that he will be battling this young man until he is old and gray. But it aggravates him to likewise know that, being who he is, he will likely live the rest of his life as he always had: singularly focused on the pieces on the board and unable to communicate or relate to others otherwise. It was for these reasons that he held onto that burning feeling of connection with his one and only friend, and tried not to regret that he had inadvertently worked so hard to isolate himself in every other way.

As he responds to Shindou's next move, the corner of his lip twists grimly as he mulls over the game that consumes him in a way that he knows, deep down, is wildly unhealthy.

He, of course, would never admit it.

At the age of four, he quickly realized that learning to play Go would be the only means through which he could relate with his father, who was loving, in serene a sort of way, but distant. In earnest he did everything he could to draw the man's attention- to pull his father's eyes away from the thirty-eight intersecting lines on the goban and make those eyes look only at him. At first he attempted small, trivial things- things that any child would attempt to do in order fill his parents, and therefore himself, with pride. When he was two, he built an imaginary city out of colorful wooden blocks. His mother had taken a picture of it and laughed with delight. When he was three, he painted a picture of his family's garden using watercolors. His mother smiled brightly and fastened the painting upon the very top of the refrigerator. When he was four, he picked up a Go stone and asked his father to teach him how to play.

At last his father smiled. They expressed their love and respect for one another with thoughtfully placed stones. Soon he was twelve and an exceptional Go player, perhaps gifted. To his dismay, it was only then that Touya realized he had neglected to learn how to make friends.

Shindou reaches into his goke, drawing a black stone and holding it thoughtfully between his middle and index fingers.

It's envy that Touya feels when he looks at him. Not only is Shindou a talented and innovative player, he is savvy, popular, and unrelentingly boisterous as well. But there is an undercurrent beneath the unsavory emotion he feels, one that was rather warm and pleasant.

The thought returns, persistent as always. He sets it aside as he forces Shindou to go on the defensive.

The game will come to a close soon. It's narrow, but Touya knows he will win it, if only by a mere moku. They will review the game. They will argue. They will fight, and Touya will feel so free and happy despite the frown between his brows and the clenched teeth set in his jaws. Shindou, over the years, had learned to cool down, and in lieu of stomping out of the salon, would instead invite Touya for ramen as a peace offering. Touya, for his part, would politely accept, even though he had grown so tired of ramen he could no longer taste it.

They would sit beside one another on two stools. Shindou would talk about his old friend like Mitani, or whatever mishap he encountered while learning rudimentary cooking skills. Touya would smile, nod, and laugh. He would ask questions, but pointedly avoided talking about his family and Go away from the salon. Then their bowls would be empty, Shindou would invite Touya to hang-out with Issumi-san and Waya, and Touya, knowing his place, would gracefully decline.

"I resign," Shindou said at length. He looks positively peeved, and it makes Touya smile not because he has won, but because he know Shindou just this well.

The rest of the evening unfolds like a ritual. Not for the first time, Shindou accepts Touya's polite refusal for an hour at the arcade in stride.

It does not matter, Touya supposes. His love for Go and the language he can speak through it fulfills him in a way he cannot explain.

But as Shindou shoulders his backpack over one of his shoulders and waves him a carefree goodbye, he questions why it is not enough.

He watches as Shindou runs after a bus while yelling into his cell phone, undoubtedly blasting the eardrums of an equally harassed Waya. He is alive and wild- a shot of lightning- and Touya can't help but want more.

No, he thinks, not nearly enough.


End file.
